Unraveling PsycheOut
by The Noble French Fry
Summary: All she had ever wanted was to be respected. All she ever did was save them. And all they gave her was grief and lies. [Sequel to Shaping Superman. Oneshot.]


**Title:** Unraveling Psyche-Out  
**Rating: **PG  
**SEQUEL/PREQUEL TO: **_Shaping Superman: The Tale of Caitlin O'Conner_ by The Noble French Fry (me), _Shaping Clark: The Michele Thompson Story_ by Michiri, _Revisiting Superman_ by The Noble French Fry (me), _Still Shaping Clark_ by Michiri  
**Time in Shaping Superman world**: approximately a year and three months after the close of _Shaping Superman_, a year after the close of _Shaping Clark_, ten years before the opening of _Revisiting Superman_ and _Still Shaping Clark_  
**Summary:** All she had ever wanted was to be respected. All she ever did was save them. And all they gave her was grief and lies.**  
Characters:** Caitlin O'Conner/Psyche-Out (OC), Clark Kent  
**A/N:** Wow. It's been a while since I dabbled in this world. Still, having said that, I didn't expect to return to it so quickly. Yes, as far as I know, Michiri is still working on SSC. Those of you who didn't know about that should hop on over and read it. :)

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**Unraveling Psyche-Out**

Fatigue seeped all the way into her bones and presented itself in every inch of her body. From her eyes which she could barely keep open to her feet that ached with every step she labored to take, she was exhausted. Every movement was an effort, every thought took strength. For this weariness was not just physical, but mental and emotional as well.

Not even bothering to turn on the light, Caitlin O'Conner plodded her way into her bedroom. She let the backpack slide from her shoulders down to slump onto the floor as she slowly made her way across the pitch black room towards her bed. Her brain didn't even register that she was still fully clothed from the flip-flops on her feet to the polo-collar on her neck as she fell on the blankets covering her mattress.

She yawned widely.

Tilting her head ever so slightly, she glanced at the glowing red numbers of her bedside clock. They brightly announced to her that it was 2:25 AM.

_Oh, great_, she thought. _Mom's going to _kill _me tomorrow_.

She'd been cramming at the library for her upcoming finals until it closed at 8, and then had gone to a youth event for her church which ended at 10. Her mom had probably expected her home soon after that. But first, she wound up having to drop friends back at their homes, then she stopped at a fast food restaurant since she hadn't eaten all day. On the way home, she'd come across a crisis that she'd had to solve as Psyche-Out, even though the people were practically shouting their disapproval of the superhero through the entire ordeal. But, eventually, she'd solved it, gotten back into her truck, and set off towards home.

And discovered she had a flat tire and that the spare was likewise flat.

After such a long night (not to mention the day that had preceded it), Caitlin had been in _no _shape to fly home, and so had walked the two and a half miles instead. Lugging her backpack full of books the entire way.

She groaned when she realized that she would have to be up in four and a half hours, because, despite the fact that it was Saturday, she was busy. She had community service work to do to earn a scholarship to pay for college this fall, and lots of work to do as Psyche-Out. Not to mention her actual job…

With a great sigh, Caitlin let her eyes slide shut.

And the moment they did, she realized that she had forgotten to do something very important today.

She hadn't called Clark.

For the first time since she'd left Smallville, a Friday had passed and she hadn't called Clark.

_Oh, well, I'll call him tomorrow_, she tiredly thought as she slipped into sleep.

---

Caitlin sighed deeply as she wandered into the bookstore where she worked. She spotted her fellow employee Heather standing behind the counter, mostly hidden behind a newspaper. Heather was a recently acquired friend through church, and Caitlin had actually helped her get the job here at the bookstore.

"Yeah, yeah. I know, I know, I'm late," Caitlin grumbled as she shuffled her way across the store towards the counter. "Just don't tell the boss."

Heather peeked over the top of the newspaper at her friend, and Caitlin thought she saw her brow crease momentarily in concern. "Wanna hear the news, Caitlin?" she asked lightly.

"Sure," Caitlin answered half-heartedly, sliding behind the counter beside her.

"Biggest news today's about Psych-Out," Heather said, folding the paper so that Caitlin could see the front page. "Bunch of crap about him being so awful, and that he's been trying to pay off the mayor and stupid things like that."

Caitlin's dreary mood instantly became even worse and her head drooped a bit. "Oh, Lord," she breathed. "That's just _great_."

"I know," Heather said, shaking her head as she folded the paper. "It's so horrible what they're doing to the poor guy. All he does is try to help people, and they turn around and spit in his face. Poor guy."

"I don't even see why he keeps on going," Caitlin muttered, more to herself than to Heather.

Heather looked at her, and frowned sadly. "Y'know, that's sad but it's true. There isn't much point in him even trying anymore. Seems almost nobody even wants the guy's help. All anybody ever wants to do is tear him down and go on and on about how horrible he is."

"Don't I know it," Caitlin mumbled to herself.

---

That night when she got home, her alarm clock's red numbers declared that it was 12:12 AM. Not a sound broke the silence in the O'Conner household—well, not a sound but the faint echo of Caitlin's father's snoring—as everyone had already gone off to bed several hours earlier. After all, they all had to be up early for church the following morning. Caitlin, though, had been working and busy all day long and only wished she could have fallen into bed hours earlier like her siblings and parents had.

But no, of course not. She didn't have the _time_ to fall into bed early.

So far, she had to manage to get by on less than five hours of sleep every night for at least the past two months, probably longer. That in its self was a miracle considering that she had been previously accustomed to ten or so before her life got so busy. Before her life had gotten so crazy, she had a regular sleep regimen: nine PM to seven AM Monday through Friday (the school days), twelve to ten on Saturdays, ten to eight on Sundays. Nowadays she was lucky to sleep from two AM to six any day of the week.

And the lack of sleep was running her ragged.

But she didn't really have much a choice in the matter. She _had_ to do all of these things that were constantly weighing her down. None of them were really optional. She had to work. She had to study for tests. She had to go to school. She had to go to church. She had to earn community service hours for her scholarship. She had to do her job as Psyche-Out.

With a sigh, she dropped her backpack on the floor and kicked off her shoes. She wandered across the darkness and then fell unceremoniously on her bed, fully clothed, as she had the night before. And really, the last few nights before that.

She was too tired to change into pajamas.

Besides, she was looking forward to getting a real, full seven hours of sleep tonight. She hadn't slept that long in… God only knew, because Caitlin honestly didn't. The lack of sleep seemed, to her, to stretch back so long that she didn't even remember when it'd started.

She sighed tiredly, and pressed her face against her pillow.

Then a thought occurred to her, and her eyes flew open. She glanced at her clock again, and the angry red numbers declared what she had expected. 12:15 AM. She groaned. She had meant to call Clark today, since she'd missed calling him yesterday. But again, her day had gotten too busy and she had forgotten.

And now, it was definitely too late to call him.

She sighed, letting her eyes fall closed again.

She made a mental note to call him tomorrow if she had the time. Which, considering the way things had been going lately, was probably too much to hope or ask for. Even if tomorrow was only Sunday. Something would find a way to crop up, take away all of her time, and leave her wondering where the day had gone.

It's just the way things were for her these days. She really didn't have much choice in the matter.

_Yes, we do have a choice_, a voice in Caitlin's head whispered faintly. _Nobody ever said that we had to be Psyche-Out. Being a superhero is a choice, not an obligation._

Again, Caitlin's eyes flew open as she wondered where the thought could have possibly come from. She had always considered that God had given her the power to be Psyche-Out for a reason. That she had been called to do a specific job. Though she wouldn't say she called it an obligation, she would say that she felt like it was a solemn duty that she needed to uphold. A calling that she needed to follow. For the good of others.

But where did one draw the line between the duty to others and the duty to oneself?

Caitlin didn't even remotely know. Being Psyche-Out had been a duty to others that she had upheld for going on four years now. In that time, she had sacrificed a lot for the good of the public. She had denied herself much so that others could have more.

The question now was giving up on being a superhero justified by the duty she had to herself and her own happiness?

And the answer to that question was one that she didn't know yet. With meditation, maybe she would find the answer, she thought. And, of course, she could always ask for the opinions of her closest friends. They were bound to have at least some sort of opinion on the matter.

Realization of what she was actually considering washed over Caitlin then, and she shook her head. How could she consider giving up the life of a superhero? She sighed tiredly again, and wondered why she hadn't rejected the idea right away. No. It was too far fetched. She couldn't give up the duty.

She tried to push the thoughts of that out of her mind so that she could get to sleep.

But, try as she might, she couldn't.

----

The next day, she was driving home from church, just as troubled as she had been the night before. Throughout the entire church service today, she had been thinking about the thought that had occurred to her last night. About her job as Psyche-Out, and whether she was still obligated to fulfill that calling, or if she had completed it.

As she was driving along in her old red truck, driving towards a bridge, a sharp thought penetrated her layers of psychological shielding.

_Just jump and don't look down._

Moving on pure reflex, she pulled the truck off the side of the road, towards the tree line, and turned it off. She glanced briefly around, but saw no one approaching on either side of the road So she pulled a quick change into her black Psyche-Out costume, mask and all, and was flying out of the door in no time.

She flew up the side of the bridge, and her eyes quickly picked out a man standing on top of the railing on one side. He took a deep breath, and stepped off the edge of the bridge. Caitlin's eyes went wide and she put on a sudden burst of speed, arcing over the railing of the bridge and diving towards the falling man. She reached him when he was probably seven feet over the surface of the river below, wrapping her arms around his body and abruptly stopping their descent.

"It's alright," she said. "You're going to be okay."

Instantly, the man started thrashing about, surprising Caitlin.

"Sir, please—" she stopped.

"Let go of me!" the man demanded, interrupting Caitlin sharply. "I did _not_ want to be saved!"

No, of course, he didn't, Caitlin thought to herself, sighing mentally. He was a suicide jumper. But whether he had a death wish or not, Psyche-Out, as a superhero, was still obligated to save him. Every endangered life she came across, she vowed to protect. No matter where the danger itself came from. "Sir, please stop," she said firmly. "I'm going to take you to a hospital—"

"LET GO OF ME!"

Angered by the man's outburst, Caitlin only held on tighter. "Make that a _mental _hospital," she amended through tightly gritted teeth. "Sir, stop struggling." He didn't do as she asked, and Caitlin held tighter to the man with force that bordered on bone-crushing.

"Let go of me, man, or so help me, I will sue the pants off of you!" the man shouted in return.

Caitlin rolled her eyes. "Sue me all you want to, sir, but I'm not letting go."

The man opened his mouth to retort, and Caitlin promptly slipped her glove off and shoved it in his mouth. She could have more effectively silenced him by manipulating his brainwaves or rendering his jaw muscles useless by using the same telepathic power. However, she was far too tired and sapped of energy to easily do so.

So she flew the man to the mental hospital, physically holding the glove in his mouth the entire way. And considering the thought that if she wasn't Psyche-Out, she wouldn't have to deal with crazy people like this anymore.

On her way back towards the bridge and her truck, the same thoughts were on Caitlin's mind.

People didn't care for Psyche-Out at all these days. Since the newspapers had begun printing scandals about him/her several months ago, public opinion of the superhero had gone rapidly downhill. Now he was practically despised by the general people of the town, and nobody wanted his help for anything anymore. A few people held out hope for him, and the occasional policeman called for his help. But other than that, Psyche-Out was hated.

Why, then, did she even bother to keep him around?

Being Psyche-Out caused her so much personal grief, and no one even cared that he existed anymore. She sighed, and realized that she was looking at the deciding factor of the question she had been asking herself since last night. Today had presented blaring evidence to her that she had previously ignored.

Whether she truly liked it or not, her decision was more or less made now.

Giving up on being a superhero was, the way things looked now, more than justified.

It was encouraged.

She sighed as she arced up and over the bridge where she had saved the suicidal man moments before. Turning upside down, she enjoyed the feeling of the air rushing past her as she flew, and the view looking down at the rippling river water below. After all, this might be her last flight ever.

"Hey, look, it's that Psyche-Out guy!" someone below yelled.

Caitlin sighed, turning her head to glance in the direction that the voice had come from. And she immediately snapped her head back the other way as some unidentified object came flying her way. It struck the back of her neck, and would've hit her face had she not turned her head. After whatever it was hit her and then fell into the river, she curved sharply back towards the bridge and the people standing outside their parked cars atop it.

"What was that for?" she called towards them, figuring that one of them had to be the one who had thrown it.

A woman raised a fist at her, shaking it angrily. "That was payback for what you've done to our town! It was for everybody that you've let down, anything you've ever wanted and wrongfully gotten, and for every dirty, under-handed thing you've done!"

That stung Caitlin like a harsh slap to the face. All she had ever wanted was to be respected and loved. All she ever did was save them, from themselves, from others that wanted to hurt them, from any harm that came their way.

And now all they gave her was grief and lies.

She stopped, mid-air, and flung out her arms wide to both sides. "I have done nothing!" she shouted at them, letting the anger, frustration, and stress that had built up for the past few months boil out of her. "I have wanted and gotten nothing! _Why_ can no one see that?"

"You lie!" a man from the crowd insisted.

"I have_ never_ lied!" Caitlin shot back. "_They_ lie! The media lies. Everybody has lied to you about me. Everybody but me. I've been honest about myself since day one."

The man scoffed. "And we're just supposed to believe you?"

She gave a short, joyless laugh at the irony of that. "Obviously, you don't _have _to since you haven't listened to anything I've said in a long time." She sighed, and threw her arms wide again, spreading herself out as a target. "So go ahead. Hate me. Hit me. Whatever. I'm _done_."

As soon as the words left her lips, things began flying towards her as the people on the bridge picked up whatever they could find to hurl at her. She didn't even bother to raise a shield around herself, but let things hit her as they may. Sure, it hurt. But right now, the physical pain distracted her from the emotional pain that was overwhelming her.

Finally, when it became too much for her, she relinquished her telekinetic grip on her own body, which was keeping her in the air, and let herself fall. She closed her eyes as the air rushed past her. She hit the surface of the water with a faint slap sound, and began to sink beneath it.

She didn't fight the water's pull on her, but let herself go.

Above her, the people shouted that Psyche-Out was dead or dying. A few of the people asked themselves what they had done; a few more cried that someone had to go in after her. But most of the people simply shouted their triumph.

And Caitlin just let herself sink.

---

When she got home, many hours later, bruises were forming all over her body where things had struck her. Big purple ones that she hid beneath her clothes. Her long hair—which had darkened from blonde to light brown since the time she had lived in Smallville—was still faintly wet, but not noticeably so. Her family would suspect nothing.

She walked into the house with a sigh, and headed towards her bedroom.

Right now, she would find no comfort in her family. Perhaps she could find comfort in sleep.

"Caitlin?"

Her mother's voice stopped Caitlin right where she was. She paused for a brief moment to plaster a faint, natural smile to her face, hoping that it would hide her true feelings. That her mom couldn't see through the smile to the hurt and pain that Caitlin was feeling inside. And she turned towards her mom.

"Yes, ma'am?" she asked.

"Me and your dad finally made a decision about this summer," her mom said simply.

Caitlin remembered a family talk that had taken place about a month and a half ago, where her parents had announced that they had thought about going somewhere as a family for the summertime. To get away for a semi-vacation one last time before Caitlin headed off to college that fall.

"What'd y'all decide?" Caitlin asked.

"We're gonna go up to Georgia to stay on Granny's farm for the summer," she replied. "Help her out a little bit and all. We're leaving as soon as school gets out in three weeks, so don't plan anything for after then."

"Okay. Cool," Caitlin said, though she really didn't care at the moment. With that, she turned away and headed into her room. Her mom didn't stop her or say anything else to her, for which Caitlin was grateful.

She closed her door behind her, and let her bag drop to the floor. She kicked off her shoes and then shuffled her way across the floor to her bed. Like she was so fond of doing these days, she fell unceremoniously onto it. She sighed and let her eyes fall closed.

She felt like a great weight of responsibility had been lifted from her shoulders, but a similar weight of guilt had fallen on her to replace it.

_I have time to call Clark now_, crossed her mind, but she couldn't bring herself to pick up the phone and dial his number. She wasn't too busy or too tired or too late to call him now. She was too ashamed to call him. If she did, then she would have to tell him what she had done. And that wasn't something that she could do. Now, or ever.

---

Drumming his fingers on the tabletop, Clark stared absently at the telephone in front of him, waiting for it to ring. He'd been like this for the past three hours or so, and in that time, the phone had failed to ring. He was acting pathetic, he knew, but he really didn't care.

It had been almost four weeks since he'd heard from Caitlin. He waited every Friday night for her to call, but in the past three Fridays, she hadn't. And Clark didn't have the faintest idea why. Before that, she had never missed a week—if she had failed to call him, then she sent him an email. And Clark hadn't gotten one of those from her either.

The first week, he had considered calling her to see if something was wrong. But then he figured she had probably just gotten busy and forgotten. So he waited for a week for her to call and explain why she had missed the week before. But she didn't, and another Friday rolled around. She didn't call then either. Clark started to worry, then, and started to pick up the phone to call her. Then he realized that him calling to ask if something was wrong might just anger her. So he left it alone.

Then the third Friday rolled past. Around then, though, Clark was getting busy with the last of exams and the last days of school and such. And he assumed Caitlin was too, and so she probably had a reason not to call. He respected that.

Tonight was the fourth Friday. And she hadn't called tonight, either.

Clark glanced at the clock. It told him that it was past ten o'clock, which meant that it was past eleven in Florida. It was too late for Caitlin to call now, and she had enough sense not to call this late anyway.

This was week number four that she hadn't called. Something was _definitely_ up.

Clark decided that he _had_ to find out what.

He glanced at the clock again. He really shouldn't be out this late for several reasons, but he technically had enough time, so… He sighed. Yes, he was going to find out tonight what was up with Caitlin.

He super-sped down the highways and interstates between Smallville, Kansas and Yulee, Florida. He was there in no time, standing in front of the O'Conner house. He noticed right away that there wasn't a single light in the house on, nor outside. Not even their porch light was on, which he knew from previous experience the family always left on.

Frowning, he went around the house to the window to Caitlin's bedroom. Softly, he knocked.

He waited for several long minutes, but there was no response. So he knocked again. Still, there was no response. Now that was odd.

Stepping back, Clark looked through the walls of the room with his x-ray vision. And he saw that Caitlin wasn't in the room. Quickly, he looked over the rest of the house. It too was completely devoid of people.

And not just that. It looked rather empty. Everything was extremely tidy—which, with the O'Conner's five kids, was a true oddity—there was no food in the kitchen, and no appliances of any sort were on, like there was no electricity.

_They've moved_, he realized, mouth falling slightly open in surprise. _And Caitlin never told me._

And since she hadn't even told him that she was moving at all, he now had no way of knowing where she was. No real way. Well, technically speaking, he could dig—or rather have _Chloe_ dig—around and find out where the O'Conner family had gone. But if Caitlin had moved without telling Clark, it stood to reason that she had a reason that she didn't want him to find her.

He blinked at the sudden tears that welled up in his eyes and at the sudden rush of emotion that flooded him at that thought. For a moment, he couldn't identify the feeling that was causing the sudden tears.

Then he realized that he felt abandoned. Deserted. Alone. Like Caitlin had forsaken him.

She _had_ left and abandoned him in a sense, though. He had a right to feel like this, didn't he? Yes, he answered his own question. But he wouldn't cry over this. Why should he let there be any tears shed over this? He forced the tears back, no longer allowing them to well up in his eyes.

Instead, he sighed and shook his head.

There was really only one thing he could do now.

He turned back towards the highway and started running, heading home. And trying—and failing—to push thoughts of Caitlin out of his head the whole way there.

**THE END**

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**Yes, I know. Quite dark and angsty. **

**Please review!**


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